Love Lasts 27 Shots
by Chlexcer
Summary: Things are not meant to last forever, both of them knew. The higher you get, the harder you fall, they say. And together, they had touched the stars. FrUK.
1. Shot Zero: Prologue

A/N: This is a story that occurred to me after I watched a beautiful Spanish short film called 'El amor dura 27 planos', which means 'Love Lasts 27 Shots' (you can watch it at http : / / www. youtube . com / watch?v=u-h-eTcQiHs). I'm setting this story around the second half of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth, although I can't assure you I won't make historical errors. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Neither Hetalia nor the short film belong to me.

* * *

><p><span>Shot Zero: Prologue<span>

Arthur hadn't known love before Francis. Francis thought he had, but after Arthur, he realised he had never truly felt anything as intense for anyone.

Nobody could explain how they got together, not even them. They hated each other, so everytime they fought they knew they were serious. They knew the other could be the last thing they would ever see before they got killed, so maybe, that was what started everything. Suddenly, they were not focusing so much on the other's weapon as they were focusing in each other and the way the heat of the battle affected their bodies.

Sweat, blood and dirt stained their faces, bodies and clothes so perfectly while pants and curses would escape their lips as they slammed sword against sword, punched, kicked, bite. They started to feel like they owned the other in the battlefield and that only them were allowed to see each other in such a vulnerable state; almost intimate. It wasn't too long before they realised how much they were harming each other.

They finally saw beyond the hate and the possessiveness that had blinded them for so long and wondered if hurting each other really made them happier, stronger, or better. Soon they discovered that it was when they were not finding excuses to fight that they felt happier, and that they found more pleasure in a little stare, a shared smile, and not too long afterwards, the wonderful feeling of their fingers intertwined.

Neither England nor France could comprehend that the same rush of adrenaline that pumped through their veins when they fought in the battlefield made it's appearance the very second their eyes found each other's across the meeting table, the empty gardens of an old palace where a reunion was held, or even the busy streets of Paris and London.

But these little 'chance' encounters soon proved not to be enough to fulfill their growing need of seeing each other, talking, and learning more about the other.

So they started meeting each other, in secret, behind the World's back, like an old love story. They would talk for hours, and were confident enough to share their strengths and weakneses to the one that not too long ago was their archenemy. They would kiss until their lips bruised and hold each other until they fell asleep, comfortable, warm and secure in each other's arms.

It had taken centuries for love to get them together, but once they did, they knew they would never go back to what they were. Or at least that is what they wanted to believe.


	2. Shots One, Two, Three and Four: Need

**Shots One, Two, Three, and Four: Need**

It felt like a sin to be loved like this.

Or was it more like a miracle? Never once had Arthur felt so loved and needed by anyone, and never had he needed anybody just as badly. It was ironic that he had fallen so deeply and madly for Francis: the only person he would have killed without doubt a few years ago was now the person he would die without.

They had hated each other so intensely it was plain to see their love wouldn't be too different: intense, incoherent, messy, mad.

England counted the steps he took down France's street, having already memorised how many he need to take to be face to face with him. He didn't know the man inside waited for him just as anxiously, forcing himself to do something that distracted him from waiting.

There would be three loud knocks on the door, and France would open it almost before the third knock stopped sounding. They would smile at each other sometimes, but most of the time, the electricity in the atmosphere, which never seemed to disappear when either of the two thought about the other, would pull them into the other's arms. It was inevitable, just like magnets.

"I missed you," one would say. It didn't matter who did, for their minds worked as one when they were together. This time it had been Francis, and he smiled even more as he wrapped his arms tightly around Arthur.

"It's only been four days, Frog." Said the latter, not meaning his words at all as his hands found their place on Francis's cheeks, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss. The first kiss would always be sweet, but never less intense, for both of them spilled their own souls into every kiss they shared.

And so, their dance would begin.

Once inside of the house, they would kiss one more time. This time it would be passionate, fingers running through each other's hair, caressing each other as if proof to themselves that this wonderful sensations were real.

They would skip formalities and would go straight to what mattered: both of them in their most natural state. They would run upstairs after each other, their hands always holding the other's, empowered by the first kisses shared and the knowledge that more would follow.

Things would turned hazy afterwards, and their vision would blur. Nothing they said would be of greater importance anymore the minute they found each other trapped in the sweetest of dreams. Somehow they would get rid of their clothes, which became the only enemy in the battlefield of their bed. Their hands would seek the heat nobody but the other's skin could provide and they would let themselves drown in the sweetest ocean.

Calling each other's name and with their arms wrapped tightly around the other they would reach completion, higher than anybody has been before, more powerful than any creature in the universe. Both of them knew they wouldn't mind dying like this, together, completely tangled in each other, with one foot in high Heaven and the other in burning Hell.

Together they would lie for hours, sometimes in silence, sometimes not, but always enraptured by the sight of the other, naked before their eyes, for they have nothing to hide. Gentle fingers would trace every corner of their skin, leaving not a single inch untouched.

They hadn't chosen to fall so deeply, but now they couldn't imagine themselves without the other. They couldn't imagine a life without feeling that overwhelming need inside their chests that devoured them slowly the more they didn't see each other, but that bursted into a thousand colours like the most beautiful of fireworks as they rocketed through the universe together.

Always together.

'I love you'.

No.

'I _need_ you. Hold me. Hold me tight.'


End file.
